Coming Home
by EtoileBrillant
Summary: All Racetrack knows is that she's a good-for-nothing girl who can't talk and he's stuck with her. She'd better speak up soon, though, because every boy here earns his keep. No slash, no Mary Sue, attention to historical details. Have I sold it?
1. Chapter 1

**Caveat lector: I own many things, including the DVD version of the movie that this fic is based off of. I do not, however, own the rights to Newsies.**

* * *

She heard the slap of her feet as they hit the cobbles and felt the frenzied rhythm of her heart as it beat inside her chest. She never once looked back, pushing through endless crowds of New Yorkers, running as far and as fast as her petticoat-laden legs would carry her. The snowy world rushed by as she clutched the precious loaf of bread to her chest, trying her hardest to press on just one more block.

Suddenly, she ran smack into a solid wall of something – no, some_one_. Winded and scared, she looked up into the eyes of an authoritative-looking young man with a black cowboy hat perched atop his head and fainted dead away.

* * *

"What the hell's dis?" Racetrack exclaimed, gesturing at the sleeping figure lying in his bunk.

It was an evening in early December, snow and biting wind swept through the city. The gaslights were mere pinpricks of light in the dark and swirling night as the Manhattan newsies slowly wandered back to the lodging house, one by one.

"Aw, can it," Skittery told him has he shoved Racetrack further away from the bunk. "You'll wake her up."

Racetrack looked livid that the boy had dared to touch him. It'd been a long, cold day selling papers with hands that lost more feeling with each passing moment. To come back to the lodging house to find _this_ was the last straw. "I ain't gonna can it, Skitts!" Race exclaimed as he rounded on Mush. "Now somebody tell me why the hell there is a girl in _my_ bed!"

"Jacky decided to get ya a Christmas present, Race," Blink said with a wicked grin and a gleam in his eye. "Now ain't that sweet?" He jumped up into his bunk in a flash, barely avoiding the punch Race had intended for his shoulder.

Racetrack marched back over to where the girl lay sleeping and crossed his arms in distaste, scrutinizing her. "That ain't no Christmas present," he said with an air of finality.

"Yeah, well ya gonna have to take that up with Jack, 'cause he's the one what put her there," came Mush's voice from a few bunks over. "I didn't have nothin' to do with it."

"Fine," said Race as he turned his back to her and may his way across the room. "I'll go talk to Jack 'bout this Christmas present. It ain't fair to give a guy somethin' when he ain't got nothing for you, right? I'll let him keep his damn present." With that, he tugged his hat more firmly on his head, as if squaring off for a fight. He headed down the narrow staircase, where he found Kloppman and Jack discussing something at the bottom, though he hardly knew what.

"Ain't there somewheres around here? Anywhere?" he heard Jack asking.

It was clear from the amount of time that had passed that Kloppman was thinking long and hard about the answer to Jack's question. "Well," the old man replied after a bit, "I suppose the corner would be alright." Jack perked up at this. "But there ain't gonna be no," he searched for the right term, "_funny business_."

Jack clapped old Kloppman on the back and looked him in the eyes, relief washing across his face. "Don't you worry about it, sir. I ain't gonna let the boys do anything to 'er. She ran into me on the street today, sir, and you know with it bein' this time of year, I just couldn't leave her there in the snow, you know?"

Racetrack hurried down the last few steps and came to stand beside Jack. "A word outside with ya, Jacky?" he asked as he stepped outside and into the falling snow.

Jack followed him into the cold night air, folding his arms across his chest in an effort to keep warm. "This had better be good, Race, 'cause I think my feet are near froze through."

"Cowboy," Racetrack started confidently, "Why is it that I come home after a day of sellin' papes and when I go to sit down on my bed to get some well-earned rest, there's a girl there? Why is that, Cowboy?"

Jack was breathing through his nose, the night air causing each breath to form tiny clouds. Looking at the Cowboy, Racetrack suddenly had the thought that he looked like an angry bull, ready to charge, and regretted having ever asked Jack the question. Jack came closer, closing the space between the two and towering over Race. "She's there because you wasn't at the time. Is that a problem or somethin'?" Jack challenged.

"Naw, course not," Race covered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wonderin'." He silently cursed himself. He usually didn't have any qualms about standing up to the Cowboy. Tonight was different, though. Jack, for his part, was not backing down. He'd seen too many kids freeze in the streets on a cold winter's night and wasn't going to let it happen to another one, not when he could help it.

At these words, Jack stepped back again, giving Racetrack room to breathe. "That's a good thing, Race," Jack said as he turned to go into the building once more. "And I'm glad to hear you're so curious about her already. In fact," he added with a smirk, "since you're so curious about her, you can be in charge of lookin' out for 'er for me." With that, he disappeared into the building, leaving a fuming Racetrack standing outside in the accumulating snow.

* * *

Fifteen minutes, two frozen hands, and one cigar later, Racetrack Higgins found himself climbing the stairs up to the boys' bunks. The boys, all in various states of undress as they prepared for bed, watched as he made his way across the room to his own bunk, every creak of the floorboards a cry to get out of his way. They all watched as he stood next to the bed and removed his shoes, placing them, as he always did, on the floor at the head of the bed. Racetrack looked down at his new chore, berating himself for not having told the Cowboy off. All eyes on him, he lay down on the floor next to the bed, covered his face with his cap, folded his arms behind his head, and settled down to sleep.

There was a general outcry from all of the boys as comprehension dawned on them. "Aw, come on, Race," Blink nudged. "Quit bein' so damn proud. Get off the floor, I'll let you bunk with me tonight."

Racetrack remained where he was, not saying a word. Mush came to stand next to Blink, wearing the same expression seen when parents are dealing with particularly willful children. "Ya gonna freeze if you stay there all night."

Again, Race ignored them. "Fine! Freeze! Ya stubborn ass…" Blink said in a tone that pronounced that that was the end of it. The boys returned to their own beds, the younger ones dallying and the older ones hurrying them along. Before long, each boy, save Racetrack, was in his bed and Kloppman came in to turn down the lamp.

Later that night, Blink awoke from a dream about a girl he'd sold a paper to the day before to the sound of Racetrack telling him to keep his hands to himself. Blink bolted upright and looked down at Racetrack, who was lying next to him in the bunk. "Race! What the hell do you think ya doing?"

Disgusted, Race replied, "I was sleepin' til you tried to get fresh, mister. 'Sides, _you_ offered ta let me bunk with ya."

"But-" Blink began before Racetrack silenced him.

"I ain't sleepin' here because I was cold. I'm sleepin' here 'cause I didn' want ya worryin' about me, got that?"

"Got it, Race," Blink replied, exasperated. "Now let me get back to sleep, wouldja?" He rolled over and hoped he wouldn't have to wake up in the same manner again that night.

* * *

**A/N - **So here it is! The first chapter of my first story on the site. I have had this beta-ed a half-zillion times, but if anything jumps out at you as wrong, please let me know. The haters will hate no matter what I say, so do as you will. I hope, however, that you enjoyed the story and will continue to read it. I hope to get Chapter 2 up sometime in the next week, in case anyone was curious. Please rate and review as I thrive on feedback!

Thanks!

EtoileBrillant

P.S. A BIG thanks to my beta readers for helping me make this a great first chapter! Tous mes remerciers a AdrenalineRush16, oboefae, DefiGraviti, et luna_riven.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

When Racetrack awoke the next morning, bleary-eyed and hungry, the furthest thing from his mind was the girl that had occupied his bed the night before. In fact, he had managed to put the entire night from his mind so thoroughly that when Kloppman made his rounds and Racetrack swung his legs over the side to stand up, he completely forgot that Blink's bunk was on top and plummeted to the floor. "Aegh!" he grunted, as he hit the wooden floorboards with a loud thud. Suddenly, between the fall and the jarring landing, it all came back to him.

Race stood up from his spot on the floor and walked purposefully toward his own bed, determined to give the girl he had so graciously let make use of it a piece of his mind. When he reached his bunk, however, he was stunned to see that the bed had already been made, as if it had never been slept in. Finding no evidence to suggest the girl was still there, Racetrack sat down on the bed, a triumphant grin on his face, and began putting on his shoes. "I showed her!" he announced to no one in particular.

"Yeah," replied a few of the boys, egging him on.

"Who'd she think she was, anyways?" he continued, as he laced up his left shoe, tugging tight on the strings.

"Yeah, who?" asked Mush, grinning from ear to ear as the offending figure timidly edged closer.

"Lousy girls," Racetrack added with gusto, "They ain't good for nothin'!" He punctuated this remark with a firm pull of his shoelaces, tying the knot on the right shoe. Disgusted, he moved his gaze up from the floor, his eyes meeting the hem of a skirt. His eyes widened in shock and anger as he jumped to his feet. "You still here?" he challenged.

The girl said nothing. She merely bowed her head, lowering her eyes to the floor. "Great!" exclaimed Race. "Just great! Now I have to be your nurse! Do you know what that's gonna do for my business?" he asked heatedly.

Again, the girl said nothing as she continued to stare at a knot in the wooden planks of the boys' dormitory floor. She was fiddling with the apron over her skirt, fingering the embroidery along the hem nervously.

Racetrack didn't know what this girl's game was, but he knew how to play games and he knew how to win them, too. Instead of continuing his one-sided argument, he merely pushed past her and into the washroom. He had papers to sell, and no little girl playing her little games was going to stand in his way.

The other boys, who had been watching the scene with bated breath, took Race's exit as their cue to finish getting ready for the day. A few of the boys tried to offer her what advice they could as they went through their morning routines. Well, they offered her what they perceived as advice.

Snipeshooter gazed at her with an air of incredulity. "You shouldn't act like that around Racetrack. He don't like it, ok? Drop it, will ya?" he pleaded. Snipes had been on the wrong end of Racetrack Higgins's temper once after stealing one of his prized cigars and he knew it wasn't a place you wanted to be.

The tone in this one's voice made the girl look up from the floor. It wasn't an attack, for once. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, but still remained silent. Snipeshooter sighed at the lost cause and made his way out of the room and down the stairs.

The next two to step up came in a pair in the form of Specs and Dutchy. As inseparable as Mush and Blink were, they looked over the girl in front of them, eyeing her critically before deciding she passed inspection. "Don't worry too much about Race, ok?" Dutchy began in a friendly tone.

"Yeah," continued Specs as he polished his glasses. "He ain't exactly pleasant in the morning. Nothing personal, of course." He said this part loudly, as if hoping that Racetrack, in the next room over, might hear him. He snickered at his own joke before adding, "Come on, Dutch. I want to the distribution office early this morning." With that, the two left, grabbing their hats on their way out.

Skittery stood up from the bunk he was sitting on behind the girl, continuing with his morning routine. "Are you stupid or somethin'?" he asked as he fastened his suspenders. "Race is-"

Mush cut him off, knocking him on the shoulder. "What he means is, Race's got a temper. Not surprising, where he comes from. But that don't mean you got to try to make him angry, alright?" Mush pleaded with a sunny smile.

Receiving no answer, Mush's smile faded and he jammed his hat onto his head. He had a lot of faith in girls, but this one he was rapidly losing patience with.

She stood there silently, stock-still, as the newsboys filed out on their way to work. The girl remained there, in a pool of sunshine in the middle of the boys' dormitory floor, until nearly all of the newsies had left to go and sell their papers for the day. Finally, Racetrack deigned to come out of the washroom. He looked decidedly irritated, and swung his head around, as if checking to be sure he were the only boy left in the room. Satisfied that he was, indeed, he walked over to the girl at a rapid pace and grabbed her by the wrist. Her head immediately snapped back down and she once again became interested in the warped wood. "Ya comin' with me today," he said shortly.

* * *

"Hurry up! You lousy girl," he mumbled as he gave her wrist another tug and pulled her down yet another icy street on the way to his usual selling spot. The two had stopped at the distribution center to get his papers, but he had made her stay with Les just outside the gates. She was a burden to him and he was determined to be with her only as often as absolutely necessary.

He cursed his bad luck and swore under his breath as he practically ran to get to his spot before someone else took it. If he hadn't been so wrapped up in all of the trouble the girl was causing him, he might have seen the icy patch in the middle of the street. As it was, his legs flew up from underneath him and he landed hard on the ground for the second time that day, bringing the girl down with him. The papers had slipped out of Race's grip when he fell and now the day's headlines rained down upon them both. "Look what you did!" he accused. "Do you got it out for me or something? Jeez! No wonder I ain't got a girl, it'd kill me!"

The girl, meanwhile, had picked up all of Racetrack's papers and had them stacked neatly in her arms. She stared at them, as though trying to make out the words. "Those ain't for you to read," Race admonished yet again as he stood up, rubbing a sore knee. "They're to sell. And we ain't gonna sell 'em all if we don't get a move on. You girls. You never think of anything but yourselves!" he yelled, as they scrambled down an alleyway.

She sat on the steps to a tenement building, thumbing through the stack of papers on her lap. There were only seven left. Race and the girl had been there for hours. He was hawking headlines, as usual, and she provided that certain, pitiful _je ne sais quoi_ that had far more people buying papers than usual. When the two had finally arrived at their destination that morning, Racetrack had plunked her down on the stairs with the threat that there would be all sorts of hell to pay if she dared move even an inch from the spot. She hadn't. She had sat there all day, papers resting in her lap, the pile dwindling, until they had gone to fetch the evening edition. Race, of course, had berated her the entire way to and from the distribution office for being a good-nothing-girl who couldn't run fast enough. Now, most of the evening editions were gone, and Racetrack noticed that the girl hadn't said a word all day.

It was unusual for a girl not to talk, at least in his experience. They were always overloud and talking about dumb things. Things like what sort of hat would look best on them, or who had been at Lady So-and-So's tea. Not once did they talk about important things, like who was the odds-on favorite in the race on Saturday.

And they always complained! If it wasn't the heat in the summer, it was the cold in the winter. Their shoes pinched or that color wasn't flattering. Real problems. He snickered out loud at the thought of them, receiving a disdainful look from a stately woman as she walked by. This girl was no less dumb, but she sure was different. Today had been below twenty and the girl had never said a word, she just sat there with an odd look on her face as she read the front page, over and over. It wasn't normal.

It was then that he resolved to see his friend. He'd know what to do about this strange girl. Besides, he needed to see him today, let him know what was going on in Manhattan.

The girl jumped as Racetrack pulled the last paper out of her grasp. "Are you afraid of everything?" he asked incredulously, as he went back to improving the truth. It wasn't long before a middle-aged man approached him and gave him a nickel for the paper and his trouble. No sooner had Race pocketed the nickel, than he grabbed the girl by the forearm, hauling her up from the steps.

"We're headed to Brooklyn," he said flatly. "Try not to faint."

* * *

**Author's Note - **I hope that saved at least one of you from an apoplectic fit. If not, well, I'm sorry I don't write faster. I'm very picky about what I write. I hope you all liked the chapter and will send me all kinds of reviews, thoughts, hunches, whatever. I just love seeing those in my inbox! They're so full of CHEER, to quote author Maureen Johnson. Happy Holidays!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The two weren't in a hurry to see Spot, after all, they'd finished selling for the day and no one would think anything of it if Racetrack were to show up a tad later than usual. They could've taken the walk to Brooklyn at a leisurely pace, admiring the setting sun and the icy, gleaming Lady Liberty in the harbor. But that wasn't the way Racetrack Higgins did things. Maybe too many days at the races had instilled in him this need for speed and efficiency or maybe he thought he could make up for his short legs by moving them doubly fast. Either way, their trip to Brooklyn was much the same as all of their other trips had been that day – short and to the point, if a little rough along the way.

"Hey! If you move any slower, we'll be going backwards, girlie," he admonished for what must have been the thirtieth time that day. They were very near the docks now, and the girl had been walking slower and slower as they approached Brooklyn territory, as if even she knew this wasn't a place you wanted to be at night. He gave her a shove in the small of the back, and she quickened her pace, but she looked like a spooked horse. Afraid of anything and everything.

He knew she was scared, but what girl wasn't around the docks of Brooklyn? Girls would believe anything, and there were certainly enough stories floating around about what went on in Brooklyn at night. He was surprised she wasn't clutching onto him, begging him to protect her. Not that he would. It wasn't like she was a real girl or anything, like one of those frilly, feminine creatures Mush was always going on about. She was just some dumb kid who needed looking after. Race glanced over his shoulder at her as they proceeded down one of the piers and saw how shaken she looked. He rolled his eyes and turned his head back to face front as they reached the end of the pier. "Sit down," he commanded, indicating an ice-covered crate near the edge of the pier. After a moment's hesitation, she did just that, casting her gaze out over the freezing water.

Race sat down opposite her and lit a cigarette. And another. And another after that. By this time, the sun had set and a light snow had begun to fall, bringing with it an eerie quiet that settled over Brooklyn. Race tossed his final cigarette into the harbor and scanned the docks, squinting into the oncoming snow. Still, he saw no one, which was markedly unusual. He and Spot always met here, on this particular pier, and always at sunset. He started getting anxious, after all he and Spot, while very different from one another, were practically brothers. Racetrack stood, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, pulling his hat lower to shield his eyes from the snow. "Where the hell's Spot?" he asked the girl, as if expecting an answer.

"He's right here, Race," came a voice from behind them both. "So you can stop your worrying."

The girl turned her face from the water and Race's face lit up as he whirled to face the boy. "Heya, Spot. It's been a while since I've seen your face around Manhattan. Where you been?" Race asked.

"Business," the other boy replied shortly, jutting his chin up.. "But you're right Race, it's been too long," Spot agreed with a grin as the two spit in their hands, shaking each other's in greeting. Spot replaced an ill-knitted, knobbly mitten and gestured toward the girl, whose attention was once again fixed on the hem of her apron. "How's come you didn't tell me about her?" he asked.

Race was perturbed and wasn't afraid to let Spot know it. Most people did as Spot requested and didn't ask questions, but these two played by an entirely different set of rules. In this case, Race knew that it was only natural for Spot to think that he and the girl were, well, together, but he'd hoped that his best friend would be able to tell that they weren't. "She ain't my girl, Spot," he said firmly, his shoulders tensing up.

"Relax, Race," Spot replied with a smirk. "Nobody said she was. But if she ain't, then what is she, exactly?" He looked her up and down, measuring, calculating, judging all her worth in this one look. Racetrack could practically see the wheels in his head turning as he sized her up.

"A piece of work," Race said with distaste, rubbing his hands together for warmth, looking longingly at Spot's crude and deformed mittens. "Cowboy ran into her on the street yesterday. She was starving, apparently living offa what she could steal, which ain't much. You know what a heart Jack's got." He paused, thinking himself about all of the times Jack had bailed others out when he had no reason.

Spot chuckled softly. "Yeah, I do."

Race took a deep breath and winced, as if it actually pained him to remember the previous night's events. "Well, I come home and the girl's in _my _bed, of all places, and Jack says she's my responsibility!" he said, getting progressively louder and gesturing wildly.

Spot looked at his friend as though he were looking at someone with a very small mental capacity. "Race," he began, "You're my friend, so let me tell you somethin'. Most guys don't mind being responsible for a girl. In fact, I know that several of my Brooklyn boys would be happy to take such a burden off ya hands."

Now Racetrack was thoroughly exasperated. He put his hand to his forehead and massaged his temples, trying to find a way to explain everything that would make sense. The trouble was, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it didn't make that the whole story didn't make much sense to him, either. "No, no, no, Spot. You don't understand, she ain't like most girls. In fact, she ain't like any girl I ever met before," he said at length.

Spot looked amused and befuddled all at once. He quirked an eyebrow and replied, "You're right. I really don't understand."

Race let out a sigh not unlike the snort of a horse as it pawed the ground anxiously before a race. He closed the distance between himself and his friend in a few strides. "Ain't you noticed yet," he muttered tersely under his breath, "That she ain't said one word since you got here? She ain't said one word all day! I yell, she doesn't talk. I swear, she doesn't talk. Nothing, nada, zip. She just sits there. It's like she's a mute or somethin'." He had reached the end of his rope. He picked up his hat and ran his fingers through his hair as if he might find the solution there.

"You sure she's a mute?" Spot asked bluntly. He was a man of action, so to speak, and wanted answers

Racetrack looked bemused and clumsily replaced his hat. He thought about it a moment, thinking back on every moment he had spent with the girl over the past twenty-four hours. "Well, no, I ain't sure. But what else would she be?" He didn't understand what all of these questions were about. He, like Spot, wanted answers, not to play a guessing game. He'd been playing those all day as he'd been selling his papers. All day it had been tugging at the back of his mind: why was she so starkly different? In the end, that was the only answer he had – that she was a mute.

Spot rolled his eyes in impatience. "Foreign," he said, again as if he was talking to someone very slow. "Lemme guess," he asked with a smirk, "You didn't think of that?" Spot loved Race, he really did, but Race wouldn't last too long in Brooklyn without him. Too many nights playing poker had sharpened his skills with numbers, but he was a far cry from being really smart.

"Well, no," Race replied slowly, clearly stunned. He rubbed his neck before replying sheepishly, "I guess I never thought of that. But we still don't know where she's from. She could be from anywhere!" This seemed an impossible conundrum to Race. In truth, he wasn't all that slow-minded, his mind was just racing too fast for him to slow down and arrive at the logical conclusion. Spot was more used to dealing with those from abroad, working close to the harbor like he did. Working in Manhattan, you just didn't get them as often. He should've thought about it. He knew he could've figured it out. Instead, he was second string again as Spot employed his superior streetwise intelligence to help him out.

"Relax," Spot said again. "In Brooklyn, you learn how to make a guy talk. It ain't no different just 'cause she's a girl. She'll talk," he assured Race.

_Of course she will_, Racetrack thought to himself.

Spot pushed past Racetrack and toward the shivering girl, who still sat there, absently fingering the hem of the apron, at the end of the pier. He kindly but firmly chucked her under the chin, raising her eyes to meet his, which now glinted with a mischief and a certain coldness. That was what he was good at, that was what he did. He liked to help Race out, but this kind of "fact-finding mission" was exactly the kind of thing he liked to do. "Hey, you gotta talk to us, sweetface," he began nicely enough, before adding, with an edge in his voice, "If you don't, I won't be very happy, and I got a terrible temper."

Unsurprisingly, the girl didn't say a word. She held Spot's gaze but would not do as he asked. It shouldn't have surprised or angered Spot as much as it did. After all, he had been warned. He took no pity on her. This was how things were done, and she would talk, one way or another. "Talk!" he commanded, shouting mere inches from her face, much like a police interrogator. When he received no response, he tried a different tactic, one Race had only ever seen him use on the Italian sailors who thought they were tough enough to handle his territory.

"Parlare!" he yelled in Italian, drawing himself up to his full height, which wasn't much, but was still taller than she was, sitting down. "Hablar!" he demanded in Spanish. "Sprechen! Spreek!" He was furious now. This girl was as much trouble as Racetrack had said and more. He'd told the truth when he'd told the girl he had a temper, and it reared its ugly head as Spot looked at her, fury in his eyes, and raised a hand to strike her. "Parler!" he shouted, giving her one last chance.

Race had been watching from the sidelines until now. If his friend could get her to talk, he wasn't going to question his methods. Still, as he watched Spot pull his hand back, he knew he couldn't let him strike her. Sure, she was just a lousy girl, but you didn't hit girls. Period. "Heya Spot, you don't need to - " he began, as he hurried over to the other boy.

Apparently, one last chance was all she had needed. "_Quoi?_" she asked the two rather stunned boys, her eyes wide with fear, her knuckles as white as the new-fallen snow as they gripped the edges of the crate. A slow smile spread across Spot's face and he let his arm drop. Race had stopped level with Spot and his jaw was on the ground. "_Qu'est – ce que vous voulez?_" she asked, her head tucked into her chest, preparing herself for the blow that she was sure would come.

"See?" Spot inquired as he turned to his friend triumphantly, all vestiges of anger gone. "I told ya she'd talk. All it takes is a little intimidation and the right words. Course, she ain't gonna be too friendly, but it ain't like we had a choice," he smirked. "And close ya mouth. You look like a fish."

He turned his attention back to the girl and crouched down to her level, using his cane to balance. Gently and carefully, he pried her fingers off of the edges of the box and placed her hands back in her lap. When he spoke again, it was in a much softer voice, the one he normally used around Race and his few younger spoke in his real voice, the one that wasn't as hard as steel and sharp as a switchblade. "_Nom_, sweetheart," he asked of her, playing the gentleman now.

She looked at him critically and glanced up at Racetrack before replying. "Aurelie," she said slowly. "_Je m'appelle Aurelie._"

Spot thought hard for a moment trying with all his might to remember what little French he had learned from Renard, the French-Canadian they'd had once. As he deciphered it, he realized that she had just given them her name, Aurelie, whatever that meant. Lost in his thoughts, Spot was jerked upward unexpectedly as Race unceremoniously hauled him to his feet. "Hey!" he cried. "Watch it!"

Race shrugged as a form of apology. "Listen, Spot," he started. "It's great that you got her talking and all. Really, I couldn't be more thankful. But what the hell language is that?" He truly was impressed by Spot's ability to speak another language, even that little bit, but it was getting late, and more importantly, cold. He didn't have all night to stand around yakking with these two.

Spot folded his arms across his chest and let out an irritated sigh. "It's French, you moron. No wonder Aurelie here ain't talked to you since she showed up. She never knew what you was saying. Can't tell you anything else about her, though. That's all the French I know. It ain't exactly a language you brag about knowing around here." Race was surprised to hear that there was something his friend wasn't good at for a change. Still, this girl was trouble. He knew American girls, they got on your nerves, but at least he knew how to handle 'em. But French girls? He'd heard stories about them. Thought they owned the world. At least, that's what Mush'd said.

"Great! Just great! Just what I need, some uppity little French girl to ruin what I got going." Race threw his arms up in indignation. He did not need this! The day seemed to get worse by the minute. "And why are you calling her Orly?"

"Because that's her name, you dummy." Spot looked to the sky, as if asking the heavens why Racetrack was being so thick. He dropped his head back down after a moment and looked from Race to the girl and back. She was still sitting there patiently, with tears in her eyes and her hands in her lap, constantly fiddling with the fabric that lay there. Racetrack, on the other hand, was a violent shade of red and looked exhausted, exasperated, not to mention highly annoyed. "Take a good look at her, Race." Spot observed. "She don't seem so snooty to me."

* * *

Author's note - Well I hope everyone is liking it so far and no one's head has exploded while waiting for an update! You guys know by now that I am a feedback-type person, so any questions, comments, concerns or rants can be sent my way. Happy holidays to all!

~EtoileBrillant


	4. Chapter 4

"Where's Race?" Tumbler asked Dutchy as the older boy prodded him in the direction of bed.

"Who knows?" Dutchy replied, his hand maintaining a firm grip on the boy's head as he steered him towards the low bunk. "He might be in Queens tonight for the craps game," he began.

"Or out near Sheepshead," continued Specs with a grin. "It being habit and all."

"Or he might be visitin' Spot," Jack added. "It's been a while since those two saw each other last. Probably thought that'd be a good way to scare the poor girl." He chuckled softly, imagining the scene that would've played out. He crossed the room in a few strides and got down to Tumbler's level. "But that ain't what's important. What's important is that whether Race gets in now or three in the mornin', the rest of us gotta sell papes tomorrow. And you can't sell papes unless you get some sleep, ok, kid?" Tumbler nodded in a kind of reverence and clambered into bed. Jack ruffled the boy's hair and stood up as the kid curled up for the night. " 'Night, kid," Jack said with a smile as he turned to head back to his own bunk. As he reached the bedpost however, he heard telltale footsteps on the stairs and knew that the young boy's question would be answered fairly soon.

Race entered the doorframe, followed closely by the mysterious girl from the night before. He looked beat, in every sense of the word. Most of the boys offered up some sort of drowsy greeting, but it was Tumbler who seemed most relieved to see Racetrack had gotten in. He sat up in bed and called out, "Heya, Race! Where ya been?"

"The docks," he said, managing a half-smile for the half-pint. "It was about time I paid Spot a visit."

Tumbler looked heartily disappointed, as if he expected him to be out doing something more along the lines of delinquency. As much as he revered Jack, he was less approachable and less fun than Racetrack. And besides, he didn't call him "kid."

Race stood by his own bed, removing his shoes and hanging his hat on the bedpost. "Hey, Kid," he called to Blink, the eyepatch wearing newsie exiting the washroom at that moment. "Does last night's offer still stand? Sharing ya bunk and all?"

Blink, for his part, rubbed the back of his neck in consideration. At last, he said, "Well, yeah, I guess so, Race. But ain't you gonna make _her_ sleep on the floor tonight? I mean, after last night, I thought – "

Race rolled his eyes at Blink, folding his arms across his chest. "You thought wrong," he stated. "But don't worry. It ain't like it's the first time." He gave Blink a smile as the others chuckled. "Anyways, fellas, this is Orly. She's French, and she's stayin with us, apparently," he said, giving Jack a look. "So for now," he started, his focus turned back to Blink, "she's sleeping in my bed," here the other boys laughed again, "but only until we can put her somewhere else. I'm not gonna do a girl any favors."

Aurelie, who had remained in the doorframe as this scene had played out, was now approached by Specs, Dutchy at his side. He peered at her through his glasses, studying her in a much different way than Spot had earlier that night. Instead of sizing her up, he was examining her, interested in her as much as if she were his ragged copy of Oliver Twist.

He walked all around her, craning his neck to inspect the embroidery she had been wearing away all day long, scrutinizing her as if trying to find her French-ness. At long last, he straightened. "Orly," he said loudly and exaggerated, pointing at her. "Specs," the boy said by way of introduction, jabbing his thumb toward his chest.

He turned to the other boys, a triumphant grin on his face, before he heard Aurelie speak. "_Non, non…_S-peh-cks," she began, furrowing her brow and putting a hand to her heart. At this, the boys jerked their heads toward her.

"Hey! She can talk!" Itey proclaimed, before Bumlets put a hand to his mouth, shushing him. Aurelie began again, "Non, c'est Au-reh-lee."

Specs stood where he was, clearly still shocked that not only had the girl talked, but to him. Dutchy, undaunted, approached her. "Ora-Ara-Orilly," he tried with a shrug. Again, the girl made a face and folded her arms across her chest. She studied the boys as thoroughly as they had her. After a moment, she pointed past Dutchy, at Specs.

"Specs," she said, almost a questioning tone in her voice, asking if she was correct.

"Ha!" Specs exclaimed in triumph. "She knows my name! She ain't so dumb as you think, Race," he said proudly, hooking his thumbs trough his suspenders and giving them a tug.

"That ain't English!" Dutchy protested, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulder. "That's just your name. That's nothing."

Specs took one more long look at her before he finally responded to Dutchy's teasing. "Alright, so it's not English. But she's smart, I know it. I bet I could teach her English. I taught Snipes and Tumbler how to read and they've gotta be ten times more impatient. She's at least standing still." He gave her a smile, waiting to see her response. She gave him a small smile in return and relaxed her arms a bit.

"Fine by me," Race called from his position up in Blink's bunk. He didn't want to lose his prime spot. "It gives me more time to sleep."

"Good, then it's all settled," Specs said with an authoritative air, though his face still held a goofy grin.

"Yeah," said Dutchy, "Everything 'cept one. I can't sleep in the same room as somebody whose name I can't even pronounce." At this a few of the boys shook their heads in agreement. Taking heart from this, Dutchy continued. "So, how's about we shorten it to something I can?" Again, the boys nodded and Dutchy thought for a moment. "How about Riley?" he said at last.

Race looked over at the girl. Riley. For a girl as fancy as she was, he didn't think the boyish name would suit her, but somehow it did. He wasn't sure he liked the fact that she was fitting in here, but he didn't have much say in the matter, because a moment later, the Cowboy shouted his approval from across the room. "I like it. Now everybody get to bed, we gotta carry the banner."

After Jack's pronouncement, the other boys did as they were told and quickly clambered into bed. When the newly christened Riley remained rooted to the spot, Jack and the others stared at her. Jack was the leader, and as such, expected to be obeyed. Realizing the problem, Specs jumped out of bed in an effort to diffuse the situation. "Riley," he said, pointing at her, "Bed." He thrust a finger at the bed, simultaneously steering her in its direction. Putting the two together, a look of comprehension dawned upon her face and she lay down on the bed, put her hands beneath the pillow, and closed her eyes in sleep.

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Author's Note: Hey you guys! I'm so sorry I haven't posted in so long. Disney is a very distracting place. But I promise you, I am not giving up on my story. Things will get pretty crazy around here soon, but I know that between the awesome reviews I get and my own curiosity with where this is going, it won't get totally pushed aside. To all of you who are in school or who soon won't be, have a great Spring Break!


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, all! I know, I know. I've been gone for far too long. I don't know if any of you have ever been to Disney World, but if you have, you know how fun and distracting it is. Just imagine 8 months of it. Best job ever, but it killed the muse. It took lots of listening to fireworks music and my own relationship issues to bring it back, but it did indeed come back. I can only hope that you guys like it as much as I enjoyed writing. **

**Enjoy!**

**Oh right. While I can get into the parks for free, I can't take my Newsies with me. Mostly because I don't actually own them. **

* * *

"Get up already!" Race ordered, hitting Riley with a lumpy, borrowed pillow. She rolled over in response, pulling her knees in toward her chest. Race was fully dressed and ready to go, angry that his charge was not similarly prepared for the day. "Move it! I ain't got time for this," he snapped. Racetrack raised the pillow to whack the poor girl again, but stopped short when Specs, a whole head taller than him, snatched it out of his hands.

"Whaddya think you're doing?" he demanded. "Geez! That poor girl can't get any peace with you around, can she?" He looked incredulously from Race to the semi-awake form of the girl lying in bed, as if unable to believe that Racetrack could do such a thing.

"She doesn't deserve peace! Listen, just because she don't speak English doesn't change a thing," Racetrack ranted to him. None of these dopes understood his situation! "She's still _my_ problem and I got papes to sell. If she don't get up soon, I don't get to my spot and if I don't get to my spot, then-"

"Then you'll live," Dutchy interrupted, peeking over Specs's shoulder. Returning Race's scowl with a playful smirk of his own, he darted underneath the arm that Specs still held the pillow with, just out of Race's reach, and crouched at the head of the bed. "Riley," he began gently, as if waking one of the younger boys. "Riley, Specs is here" he said in a singsong voice.

The girl rolled over toward Specs and blearily opened her eyes. "Spehcks?" she asked drowsily. Here, Specs beamed, dropping the pillow on Race's head and shoving Dutchy out of the way. At the sight of him, the girl visibly brightened, smiling and opening her eyes further. It was clear from last night's events that this was someone she could trust.

"Heya, Riley," Specs began, leaning over the bed. "Ya gotta get up, you know?"

She continued smiling, though it was clear she had no idea what he had just said. Specs, realizing this, mimed pulling back covers. "You know, up?" he tried. He pulled back invisible covers several times and stretched his arms above his head. He was running out of ideas when she exclaimed, "_Mais oui! Bien sur! Je me reveille._"

She sat up so fast that their heads collided and Specs stumbled backwards into Race. Riley, however, seemed unfazed and took advantage of the space he had recently vacated to tug on the boots she had stowed beneath her bed the night before. Dutchy patted Specs on the back, laughing at the sight of the girl's hasty awakening. "Who'd have guessed? You really got a way with the ladies." He turned to Race, who was catching his balance, and added, "You sure know how to pick'em Race."

"Yeah," commented Skittery, as he passed by. "He picks his girls just as well as he picks his horses."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Racetrack demanded, rounding on him.

"It don't mean nothing, Race," Skittery answered with a smirk. "Heya Boots, you seen my mitten?" he called out, heading downstairs and out of Race's reach.

"Don't mean nothing my old lady's corset cover," Race mumbled as he turned back to berate Riley. Much to his surprise, she was no longer hunched over the edge of the bed, lacing her boots like a good girl should. But then, this girl was causing him more trouble than imaginable, so perhaps he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was. As things were, he turned to Dutchy, an incredulous look on his face and asked, "Where'd she go now?"

Dutchy pointed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the washroom. Race looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there she was. In between Jack and Mush shaving, she was washing her face in the porcelain basin. Unbelievable! This girl was not like anything he'd ever dealt with before and she just kept getting weirder. When she was finished washing her face, he watched as Dutchy passed her a towel, amazed at how she had everyone eating out of the palm of her fancy, French hand. She took a few more moments to plait her hair, pulling it tight away from her face. Race stared at her from across the room. She wasn't even that pretty. Not really. "Hey!" he yelled at her, snapping out of it.

She whirled around, her own braid nearly smacking her in the face. "Hey, girly! We got things to do today, you know that? Come on!" he commanded. He crossed his arms and waited for her to head over. Instead of doing as she was told, she backed up against the wall and cast her eyes downward. She might not have spoken English, but she knew that voice, and she was terrified of it. "Specs, go tell her to get her French behind over here so we can get a move on already. I told you, I don't got time for this," Race said to his friend.

Specs gave him a look and rolled his eyes, but strolled on over to her nevertheless. Amidst the clatter and confusion of the boys cleaning up to start a fresh day, Specs tenderly placed a hand on her shoulder and chucked her under the chin. "He says you gotta go with him today," the boy said in a soft voice, motioning toward Racetrack.

"Non, non," Riley replied quietly. "_Il n'est pas gentil a moi."*_ She shook her head furiously and though Specs knew about as much French as a doorknob, he could tell she didn't want to go with Race, and really, who could blame her? Race was terrible to her. So she didn't speak English – neither did a third of New York City. But Race was stubborn and it would take a lot more to convince him that she was from France, not the depths of the underworld.

"Yeah, I wouldn't either if I were you," he said with a chuckle. Riley smiled when he laughed, safe in the knowledge that this Specs person was someone she could really trust. "Heya, Race!" he yelled to the other boy. "How 'bout a bet?"

"What's the bet?" the short Italian asked as he sidled up to the two of them.

"I'll take over for you for the day. If I can teach her some English by the end of the day, then you pay my rent. Deal?" It wouldn't be fair to send her out with him. Not again. There was a reason he didn't sell with Racetrack anymore. He just couldn't believe that this poor girl had had to put up with his temper for as long as she had. It wasn't right for a lady to have to do such a thing. Especially one as harmless as Riley.

Race thought about it a moment before spitting into his palm and extending his hand toward the other boy. "But it sure ain't gonna work out for you. She's just a dumb girl."

"If you think so, Race. Come on, Riley," he added, taking her hand and pulling her back through the dormitory. He picked up his coat from the bed and fished Oliver Twist out from under it. "School's starting."

Racetrack watched with wide eyes as Specs pulled Riley down the stairs and out of sight.

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**Ok. So I know what it looks like, but it's not going down that road. Aside from that, I really hope you liked it. I know it's not much considering how long I've been gone, but it's my promise to you all that I'm not giving up on it. So give me thoughts, suggestions, rants, etc. BLAH! Je suis folle, c'est sur :)**


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